


you and me could write a (bad) romance

by AlexSeanchai (EllieMurasaki)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrienette | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Adrinette April 2019, Crack Treated Seriously, Designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng, F/M, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Homelessness, Identity Reveal, Marriage Proposal, Modeling, Podfic Welcome, Post-Reveal Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Queer Character, Queer Het, Temporary Character Death, sitting these two clowns down to talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 17:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18554572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMurasaki/pseuds/AlexSeanchai
Summary: Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and didn't meet her eyes. "Sooo I kind of had a fight with my father. The part where the art room social scene comes in is, I told him I'm done modeling for anything but romance novel covers. And he doesn't believe me.""…Romance novel covers," Marinette repeated slowly, imagination filling with Adrien in a charcoal suit waltzing with a woman in a crimson silk gown. Adrien in a pirate ship's crow's nest, poet shirt open to show his defined pecs and abs, with the black-and-red-garbed pirate queen. Adrien, blue-jeaned and shirtless and wielding a broadsword, with—"The thing is—and this," Marc added, "is the part where Loverboy is getting all flustered—the thing is, romance novels, as a general rule, have two protagonists.""Both of whom," continued Nathaniel while eyeing Marinette, "ought to be on the cover. Otherwise readers will get confused about the genre.""Subtle," said Marinette. "Adjective. Antonyms includeMarc and Nathaniel."





	you and me could write a (bad) romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norakwami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norakwami/gifts).



> Prompts: [a sleepy norakwami post](https://norakwami.tumblr.com/post/184315266286/its-300-am-im-hopped-up-on-cold-meds-and-i) and [about half of Adrinette April 2019](https://adrinetteapril.tumblr.com/post/182927069663/announcing-adrinette-april-2019-it-is-happening)

"—can't ask _her_ , I'll die of humiliation!"

Marinette looked up from Marc's current novel draft, spotted Adrien talking to Marc and Nathaniel, and squawked.

"And now she's heard me," muttered Adrien; quatrième Marinette probably wouldn't have heard him clearly. " _Hello_ , mortification." He turned around to grin at her. "Hey, Marinette. Good story?"

Marinette smiled past Adrien at Marc. "Very." Wait. "You're not usually in the art room, Adrien…?"

Adrien winced, going pink in the face. "A mistake, obviously. I, ah."

"He needs a favor," Nathaniel said helpfully. "He's really hoping you'll help."

" _Nathaniel_!"

"He is," Marc added, grinning. "He just doesn't know how to ask you. And since we still haven't repaid you for introducing us…"

Adrien's cheeks were shading into crimson. "I'll ask Kagami," he mumbled. "It'll be fine."

Kagami? After that break-up, she and Adrien were only friendly if her girlfriend was around or her sword in hand. Which was most of their interactions, admittedly, but still. Marinette got up, the better to blink at all three boys. "What's going on?"

Marc and Nathaniel looked at Adrien, who rubbed the back of his neck and didn't meet her eyes. "Sooo I kind of had a fight with my father. And quit my job. And possibly ran away from home? I'm not really sure."

"How are you not sure?" Marinette asked blankly.

"That's…a long story." Adrien's face was staying pointed at Alix's graffiti wall, but his gaze kept sliding toward Marinette, then skittering away. "The part where the art room social scene comes in is, I told him I'm done modeling for anything but romance novel covers. And he doesn't believe me."

"…Romance novel covers," Marinette repeated slowly, imagination filling with Adrien in a charcoal suit waltzing with a woman in a crimson silk gown. Adrien in a pirate ship's crow's nest, poet shirt open to show his defined pecs and abs, with the black-and-red-garbed pirate queen. Adrien, blue-jeaned and shirtless and wielding a broadsword, with—

"…You don't have to make it sound _that_ unbelievable." Adrien's shoulders were slumped and his expression downcast.

"Did I say that?" asked Marinette, startled. "I don't think I said that! It's just—not your usual aesthetic? That's all!" she added when Adrien didn't look convinced. "I can definitely see it. In _fact_ ," she continued, waving her tablet, "I bet you'd be the perfect model for the cover of _Marc's_ novel!" The leads were obviously modeled on Ladybug and Chat Noir, physical description and all. Adrien didn't look _that_ much like Chat, of course, but he certainly fit all the adjectives Marc was using for the male lead.

"Told you," said Nathaniel, elbowing Adrien.

"—I mean, if you're okay with that," Marinette said to Marc, hastily.

Marc shrugged. "I said it first, actually."

"The fifteen-and-cute look won't work, of course," Nathaniel said to Adrien, "but I bet that's part of your point? You're eighteen and legally an adult and all that jazz, and I _know_ you still look sixteen at most in your latest work." He smirked at Marinette, who _might_ have been responsible for Nathaniel noticing this. Maybe. "No way is he treating you like an adult if he's not even willing to make better money off of letting you look like one."

"The thing is—and this," Marc added, grinning up at Adrien, "is the part where Loverboy is getting all flustered—the thing is, romance novels, as a general rule, have two protagonists."

"Both of whom," continued Nathaniel with an obvious glance up and down Marinette, "ought to be on the cover. Otherwise readers will get confused about the genre."

Oh.

"Subtle," said Marinette, setting down the tablet to fold her arms. She'd seen plenty of romance novels with only one protagonist on the cover or none. She'd designed a few herself, after Penny Rolling recommended her graphic design to some contacts of hers or of Jagged Stone's. "Adjective. Antonyms include _Marc and Nathaniel_."

Adrien looked away again. "I can ask Kagami. She matches the description of Marc's female lead too."

Marinette pointedly raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, but you don't want to, do you?" And even if he did and she agreed, Kagami wasn't an actress or a model, and wouldn't be much good at it.

"Not really," mumbled Adrien.

And no way was _Marinette_ asking Adrien this without melting into a puddle of pink-cotton-candy goo; she'd dated other people and so had he, and it wasn't fair that putting any thought of him too close to any thought of sex or romance still set her shivering. She straightened her spine, letting Ladybug settle like a veil over her. "And would you be okay working with me?" Probably not, if he was that embarrassed to ask, but—

Adrien glanced back at her and did a double-take. "I'm. Uh. Yeah."

—Wait, what?

"Great!" Marinette clapped her hands. "How are we going to do this? And when? And what do we need? And—wait. Are we just doing reference photos for Nathaniel, or—?"

"Uh," said Marc, and "Um," said Adrien. Nathaniel just blinked.

Marinette slumped back into her chair and put her face in her hands.

* * *

"So," said Alya, grinning wickedly at Marinette and at Adrien standing comfortably beside her, "you don't actually need to have a dozen different _novels_ in order to make a dozen different _covers_. You don't even need a dozen stories. A dozen _story concepts_ will do."

"Not that Marc won't take these as inspiration for the next few masterpieces," added Nathaniel; Marc ducked his head.

"And so! We have plumbed the depths of AO3!" Nino spread twenty or so index cards on the table before Adrien and Marinette. "Pick your poison!"

 _café_ , read one card. _pirates_ , another. _fairy tale_ , _steampunk_ , _royalty_ , _werewolf_ …

"What did you do," asked Adrien, "pick the most popular AUs?" His fingers hovered above _pirates_ ; from this angle Marinette couldn't tell if that was a blush.

Alya grinned wider. "Something like that."

"…say, Marinette," said Adrien, "how do you feel about costume design?"

Marinette spun away, the better to fix him with an unimpressed stare. "If you tell me you ever thought about asking _anyone_ else…"

"Of course not!" Adrien stole a glance at Alya. "I just wanted to be sure our weirdly enthusiastic best friends weren't railroading you into this."

"Of course not," Marinette assured him, and felt her heart skip when Adrien smiled.

* * *

Ladybug was approaching her balcony after a late-night run to use up some excess energy (it wasn't _her_ fault brainstorming ways to make her and Adrien look like ten different perfect couples was, uh, stimulating, or that the day's akuma battle didn't need her to be terribly athletic) when she spotted a familiar black shape sprawled on her lounge chair. She veered to a landing point out of sight, dropped her mask, waited three nervous minutes without hearing more than his even breathing and a distant driver's irritated horn, and crept across the rooftop to clamber over her railing. Chat Noir hardly twitched out of his slumber at Marinette's arrival.

She ducked inside, went down to the linen closet, and came back up with a pillow and a flat sheet. The latter she draped over him; the former she tucked under his head.

Chat stirred without opening his eyes. "La'bug?"

"Yeah, it's me," Marinette whispered, running her hand through his soft hair; he purred, leaning into her touch. "Sleep safe."

She dropped onto her bed and closed the skylight behind her without latching it. "What is he _doing_ here?" she wondered, and Tikki could only shrug.

The next night, Marinette was at her desk sketching a design for the Prince Adrien and humble seamstress Marinella concept when she heard a soft thump on her balcony. She poked her head out of the skylight and caught half a heartbeat of Chat's too-wide eyes before he vaulted away.

"Damn it, Chat!" Not, since she didn't want the whole block listening, that she expected he'd hear her. "What's wrong? Why won't you let me help?"

The following night, as far as Marinette knew, Chat didn't come.

The night after, a thunderstorm struck. Marinette peeked onto the balcony and, on her fourth check, found her damp and dismal cat huddling under the awning. "Get in here," she ordered when he didn't immediately flee. "What's Ladybug going to do if you catch your death of cold?"

"Find a new partner, I assume," mumbled Chat, coming inside.

"Do you ever hear her when she talks about you?" Marinette wondered, following him down with less care for keeping her bed dry than he'd shown. "Because _I_ got the idea long ago you're the only partner she wants. So I think maybe _you_ haven't been listening."

"That so?" Chat shoved his hands through his hair, sending excess water down his back.

"Is so," she told him. "Stay here. I'll get some towels. And dinner; I bet you haven't eaten. Bread and deli meats and cheeses, to start, and you can let me know any particular requests in a minute." There probably wouldn't be any, except that she leave him in private for a few minutes for unspecified reasons that amounted to feeding Plagg; this wasn't their first round of that dance. She headed for the trap door, paused before lifting it, and turned to fix him with a stubborn stare. "I mean it. Stay here. Sleep on my chaise tonight. And tomorrow night. And as many nights as you need to."

Chat was watching her with unexpectedly soft eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?"

Marinette had to try three times before she could say any true thing at all. "'Deserve' isn't the word I'd use."

* * *

"Yeah, goofy and lovesick, that's _exactly_ the look I want here," grumbled Adrien, crumpling up a sheet of paper. They weren't even working on paper—Alya, for instance, was home technically minding Etta and Ella right now; whether the twelve-year-old terrors were home to be minded was a separate issue—so Marinette switched from her sketch app to the collaboration notes document before he deleted whatever it was.

Alya's latest addition to the shared doc, moments earlier under the _pirates_ heading, read _smoldering gaze_. Adrien deleted it as Marinette watched.

Marinette reverted the edit. "What's the problem? Isn't that in your standard repertoire by now?"

"Not as far as I know." Adrien deleted it again. "I have no idea how to do that."

"Huh," said Marinette, deliberately skeptical, and undeleted it. "Because I have definitely seen you doing that."

Adrien paused, hand hovering above his touchscreen, staring at her. "When?"

Uh. Marinette's gaze veered away. "You're usually looking at Ladybug."

"Am I?" he asked, confused. "But she—oh shut up," he grouched, pitching his paper ball at the snickering Nino.

"I'm serious," Marinette told him, getting up. "Pretend I'm Ladybug." Which, given the givens, meant flirting with him as though her mask weren't off, without the grace and confidence that came with having it on. Oops. "Nino, make with the direction, will you?"

"Uh, sure," said Nino. "Is this the pirates one?"

"Sure!" said Marinette. Adrien shrugged.

"Okay." Nino considered them. "All right. First mate Adrien, lean on the ship's railing, by which I mean the table. With some manspreading, so there's room for Captain Marinette to get right up in your personal space."

Adrien positioned himself as instructed. Marinette moved to stand between his legs, on her toes to give herself a more imposing silhouette (if cropped right) and so it would look more like she could reach to kiss him without folding him in half first. "You're too tall," she complained; it was one of the more irritating things Adrien and Chat Noir had in common.

He snorted. "Problem?"

"Not on your life."

She was Captain Ladybug here: poised, bold, powerful. Little things like her first mate's unfair height, tantalizing warmth, and intent green gaze did not, _could_ not fluster her. She laid one hand on his bicep, and with the other traced a line from his earlobe to his collarbone, smirking up at him with the confidence born of _I have the power to take you to pieces, and I choose to use it to keep you whole_. Sometimes, after all, her yo-yo cord could slice through steel; other times it could catch falling fragile people without even marking their skin.

"You take too many risks, Agreste," she told him, almost as she might to Chat Noir: she expected she'd blow Chat's mind if she said anything to him at all with the edge of desire she was giving this feigned anger at Adrien. His pulse jumped under her fingertips. "I need your handsome face to stay in one piece."

Adrien's smile slowly widened, his eyes gleaming. "Can't get the reward without the risk, Captain."

"And cut!" Nino announced, startling them apart. He waved his phone as Marinette and Adrien turned. "Come look. Not quite what we meant, but whatever you were just doing, do that in the real shoot, it's definitely working."

The shared folder notification popped up on Marinette's tablet, and she looked at the first photo. "—wow," she said, surprised: the intensity of their expressions— "Yeah, that—that really works."

Behind her, Adrien leaned across to see, draping his arms over her shoulders. "Yeah, it really does."

* * *

Ladybug sent the cleansed butterfly on its way, tossed her Lucky Charm to call Miraculous Cure, and exchanged the traditional fist bump with her partner. Chat Noir turned to the akuma victim, Julie, a friend of Manon's, and Ladybug to Manon herself and Nadja Chamack. The latter, being supposedly off the clock, had handed her phone to Manon to film with. "Another day saved!" said Mme. Chamack cheerfully. "Ladybug, do you have a moment?"

"Three minutes," Ladybug answered; nearer ten if she pushed it, and Chat (who'd called Cataclysm a minute or so before she'd called Lucky Charm) could probably go at least seven minutes instead of two, but they didn't want _that_ on record. She smiled. "What can I do for you, Nadja?"

"The latest rumor is that you two broke up over another woman," said Nadja, looking as though she didn't know quite what to do with her hands without a mic. "Do you have any comment?"

Ladybug groaned. "'Broke up' implies 'ever together'," she pointed out. "Our professional relationship is as strong as it has always been, and nothing and no one will come between us." She glanced at Chat, swinging a smiling Julie up onto his back, and smirked. "Anyway, last I heard he's dating this hot guitarist. I'd really hate to come between them."

"Keep it Teen-rated, there's children present," chided Chat, amused, and Ladybug put on an expression of greatly offended primness. "We broke up, anyway. He's pursuing his dreams in New York City now, I think. What about you, LB, still with what's their face?"

"The cute actress?" Ladybug snorted. "My love to her melted as the snow." Allegra's family had moved to Aix-en-Provence, actually; without seeing her most days at the lycée, Marinette had sort of inadvertently ghosted her.

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!" Chat patted Julie on one of the arms slung round his neck. "Mme. Chamack, can you get Julie here home? I've got somewhere to be."

"Of course, Chat Noir." Nadja sounded half dazed. Chat swung Julie down again—Ladybug spied him slipping her one of the business cards he'd made a while back, with a permanent invite to a Discord-based support group for akuma victims—and Nadja caught Julie in a half hug.

"We'll be seeing you," Ladybug told them all, and launched her yo-yo, leaving Manon's cheerful "Don't be bemused, it's just the news!" behind them.

Chat caught up on a row of rooftops barely a block away. "You doing okay?" he asked, matching her pace. "You looked kinda upset about the actress."

Ladybug glanced over. "Did I? No, it's just—Mystery Boy, first of his name," she admitted. "We're both single right now, and our friends are trying to set us up again, and I thought I was _over_ him, and—I'm not sure it wasn't his idea."

"You should go for it," Chat said at once. "If he'll make you happy."

"Really?" asked Ladybug, startled. "No proclamation of your eternal love, no—" She dodged a chimney. "—protesting you'd love me better than he could?"

He'd never objected to hearing about her love life. He'd told her about his own. And he'd never had a negative word to say about any specific person she was dating, bar Claude; she'd ditched him when Adrien pointed out to Marinette the same red flags Chat had observed to Ladybug, and six months later Claude's new girlfriend had ended up at one hospital, swearing Ladybug had saved her life (not accurate, but not untrue), and Claude himself at another, swearing Ladybug had tried to kill him (total lies, obviously, as Chat had told Alya, and slanderous to boot).

But he'd never before told her he supported her having a love life that wasn't him.

Chat vaulted into her path and stopped; Ladybug halted before colliding. "I could," he told her, low and serious. "If you want. But—" He turned, leaning on his baton, to look over the cityscape. "You keep saying you don't want. So I'm pursuing one of my best friends. Everyone's telling me she's interested."

"Ah," said Ladybug, feeling her stomach twist.

"I mean, I could still play that whole scheme off as we're very good friends in an entirely platonic manner," Chat continued. "I haven't…really said otherwise, yet. I'm still trying to figure out what she wants to say she's feeling. So I haven't committed. I will if she wants me to." He turned back to her. "Unless you decide you want me before she does."

"…I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that," said Ladybug faintly.

Chat shrugged. "You don't have to say anything. I've figured out by now I'm not likely to get the epic anime romance I was dreaming of when I was fourteen. I can't help hoping you'll change your mind, but I don't like being alone, either." His voice took on a dreamy tone. "And she's bold and determined and creative and sweet and—"

"Pretty?" interjected Ladybug.

" _Beautiful_ ," he corrected, "though I'm insulted you think that matters. She's amazing, Bug. I could do so much worse."

"Yeah," Ladybug agreed, "you could be chasing Lila Rossi."

He shuddered. "Don't even joke." A pause. "What's Mystery Boy like? You've never said."

"He's funny," said Ladybug at once, though she planned never to admit in her partner's hearing that the similarities between Adrien's style of humor and Chat's were one of Adrien's best qualities. "Dedicated. Clever. Kind."

"Handsome?" asked Chat, smirking.

"Damn straight."

Chat nodded, firm. "You could do worse."

" _Damn_ straight," she repeated. "Enough about him, though. How are _you_ doing?"

"—Ah." Busted. "Why do you ask?"

Ladybug folded her arms. "I know where you sleep."

His cat ears pressed back. "Ladybug—"

"Chat, please." She stepped closer, opening her arms. "If something's wrong, let me know so I can help."

"My home life went to shit, that's all." He was watching her stance, twitching back and forth in a way he didn't seem conscious of. "Unless you've changed your mind about knowing my name, the only way you can help is showing up for akuma fights and stuff. Which you'd do anyway."

Ladybug nodded, heart clenching. The problem was he was right. "Do you want a hug?"

With a shuddering breath, he folded into her embrace.

—and bolted at the sound of his ring's beep.

"Well," muttered Ladybug, swinging down to head back to the fitting of Adrien's she'd unceremoniously abandoned. He smelled of her cedar-scented soap. "Fuck."

* * *

Adrien held a hand out to Lila, grinning. "Pay up," he told her, rather loudly. "Ladynoir is not canon because they're both queer. Pay _up_."

"Evidence?" asked Lila, frowning at first Adrien, then Marinette.

"As it happens," said Adrien, waving his phone.

" _We broke up, anyway,_ " said the video of Chat Noir, as Rose and Juleka hurried over from one direction, Nathaniel and Marc from another, followed by Kagami and Aurore and Alix and Max and Kim. " _He's pursuing his dreams in New York City now, I think. What about you, LB, still with what's their face?_ "

Video Ladybug replied, " _The cute actress? My love to her melted as the snow._ "

Lila looked around at the wall of delighted people and, with ill grace, dug in her purse for some cash.

"Didn't we know that, though?" Marinette asked blankly. This wasn't the first time either she or Chat had said this on the record. Right?

Adrien, tucking his winnings in his pocket, gave her a long look.

* * *

Marinette's sewing machine hummed, her fingers steady on the fabric. Behind her on the chaise, Adrien matched fabric edges and secured them with straight pins. Disney's live-action _Cinderella_ played on her desktop monitor.

"I'm kind of jealous of her," Adrien admitted when the machine fell momentarily silent for Marinette to move to the next seam. "Like. Yeah, she lost both her parents—but she always knew they both loved her."

Marinette turned off the machine and went to sit beside Adrien, sliding one arm around his waist. "Where are you staying tonight?"

"Nowhere he'll find me," he assured her, returning the embrace. This wasn't as reassuring as it could have been: three days ago Nathalie Sancoeur had burst into the room where Adrien and Marinette among others were taking the economics section of the Baccalauréat, only to be utterly mystified when Adrien wasn't there. (He'd sneaked back to his desk once she'd left, sheepish and visibly hoping he hadn't just ruined his results.) "Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Did you already pay for tonight?"

Adrien's laugh was short and harsh. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just insult my friend's hospitality."

Marinette nodded. "Then stay here."

He blinked down at her. "What?"

"Stay here," Marinette repeated. "I want you to wake up tomorrow with someone who—"

— _loves you._ The words caught in her throat.

"Someone who?" repeated Adrien, curious, and curiously intent.

Why had she ever thought words would work to tell him this?

Marinette leaned up and kissed him.

Adrien made a soft startled noise against her lips, pulling her close. She wound her arms around him, drawing him closer still, the strong steady warmth of him solid against her; her heart raced as fast as it ever had in battle, her bare skin tingling in all the too-few places his bare skin touched.

He pulled half a beat back, far enough to meet her eyes, making no move to let her go. "What brought this on?"

Damn it _words_. "'Have courage,'" Marinette quoted, "'and be kind.'" Adrien watched her, quiet. "That's you," she told him. "That's always been you."

"I didn't know you think that highly of me, princess," said Adrien, low and intent.

(The endearment had bothered her enough coming from Jeanne that Marinette had kicked the flutist to the curb the second time she used it, since she demonstrably hadn't listened the first time Marinette said no. That was _Chat Noir_ 's and no one else's.)

(It should bother her from Adrien.)

"I always have." Or, wait. "Not ever since the day we met. But almost."

"Really?" Adrien was skating one hand up her back to toy with the fine hairs at the back of her neck, too short to stay in her pigtails. "And here I was thinking, the first several months, you didn't like me much and you just didn't want to admit it. I wanted so much to be someone such a brave girl could be proud to be friends with."

"…the first while, the first couple days especially, that was all me trying to live up to who Alya thought I could be," Marinette admitted, wanting to look away, but Adrien's gaze compelled her. Adrien, she thought with a twinge of guilt, to whom she could talk about Alya's part, but not Tikki's, or Chat Noir's. "You really thought I was brave?"

"I really think you are." He paused, nibbling his lip, a tiny riveting motion. "You wanted this that long?"

Marinette gave a small nod.

"…Why is now the first you're telling me this?"

Her cheeks burned with remembered humiliation. "I _tried_."

He blinked. "Am I really that oblivious?"

Marinette shook her head, giving in to the temptation to tuck her head against his shoulder. "I never got the words out. I'm still not sure I can. I just—stay here, all right?"

She'd have some explaining to do when Chat showed up, but she'd be perfectly happy to put one of her boys in her bed, the other on her chaise, and she herself could sleep on a heap of blankets on the floor. It would work out. They'd both be okay.

"Stay here," Marinette repeated.

Adrien's arms tightened around her. "All right."

* * *

Marinette pushed herself halfway up in the starlight. She hadn't heard Chat come in, had she? She'd climbed into bed before he arrived? Was he still—?

No, the balcony was empty. That might not be good. Marinette had to head downstairs, though, bathroom and water and a bite to eat…

Oh, huh, she thought on her way back up. The golden head peeking out from under the pale pink sheet on her chaise was Chat's, of course; who else? How'd he gotten down from the balcony without disturbing her?

He had such soft hair. Such begging to be petted hair. (Something odd? No, no—) And such a contented purr…

The daylight brought her drifting back to wakefulness, a pink glow through her eyelids. She didn't want to move, not when she was so warm and comfy and…mm, this could be the start of a good sex dream, with Adrien already underneath her, his fingers on her sleep shirt tracing lazily along her spine…

She wriggled, breathing in the cedar scent of her soap, Chat's soap now—Chat who was holding her? She could feel the smooth ridge of his ring, but no, no claws—

"Marinette?"

Adrien's voice.

"Come on, are you awake yet?"

Marinette opened her eyes. Not much to see but the curve of his neck and a floor-level view of her bedroom. "Mm?"

"Fun as this will be if you still want to in ten minutes," Adrien told her, "you are too heavy and cute to move, and I seriously need to go pee."

"Mm." She rolled off him, admiring the view of him in tee and boxers vanishing through the trap door. Adrien had stayed the night. They'd kissed. They'd kissed a lot. She'd offered him the chaise to sleep on, meaning to give Chat her bed whenever he arrived. She'd…petted sleepy _Adrien's_ hair? Not Chat's? That explained where the cat ears went, and she guessed she'd gone back to sleep right there, pulling him down to the floor with her—

She'd petted Adrien's hair. Not Chat's.

Marinette scrambled up the ladder. Empty bed. Empty balcony.

Her partner hadn't come at all.

* * *

Juleka and Nino were arguing with Rose and Nathaniel over which palettes to use for Marinette and Adrien's makeup with which costumes. Alya and Marc had their heads bent over the same tablet; Marinette suspected them of collaborating on one or another of the romance novels they'd both threatened to write for these covers. She was tuning three-fourths of everything out, honestly. Concepts, done. Costumes, done. Actual modeling, improv acting, whatever it was they were up to here, not starting yet. The rest, not her problem. Adrien was beside her, quietly not dying laughing, so her only problems were if Adrien's former bodyguard or father or father's assistant showed up here, if an akuma showed up anywhere, and if Chat Noir didn't.

"You all right?" asked Adrien, gathering her up to settle in his lap. "You look worried."

She hadn't seen her partner for a week, except for ten minutes three days ago during an akuma attack, and he'd been in too much of a hurry to get back to whatever he'd ditched. She couldn't entirely blame him—she hadn't wanted to ditch Adrien's scouting outdoor shooting locations herself! But outside of that battle and one voicemail promising her he was " _staying at my girlfriend's, don't worry about me,_ " she hadn't heard from him in a week, either.

Marinette leaned into him. "I'm worried about Chat Noir."

"What?" Adrien sounded startled; his grip on her arm tightened, then relaxed. "Why?"

"He was spending nights at my place. Like there's nowhere else he could be safe. And then you started staying with me, and I guess he thinks he isn't welcome anymore?" Marinette drew a ragged breath. "How am I supposed to talk to you both if he won't talk to me? How do I make sure he's okay?"

Adrien turned her sideways so she could look up at him. "I'm sure he's okay, princess. I'm positive."

"Said the hydrogen ion to the neutron?"

He laughed. "I love you so much," he told her, setting off fireworks in her heart, and he leaned down for a kiss.

(Alya showed them a stack of candid photos later, and Marinette couldn't even be annoyed.)

* * *

Gumballs flying like bullets. Ladybug dodged a spray from a mind-controlled minion, clocked them with her yo-yo so they went down and stayed down, turned—

Chat Noir was batting gumballs away, staff spinning, focused on the akuma herself; he wasn't seeing the minion behind him—

She shouted; he turned; he flung himself toward her; he slammed her down, her shield against a minion _she_ hadn't seen, with no defense against the one he hadn't—

Blood.

Blood and the ferocious whirl of her yo-yo.

Blood and his standing, stubborn, death grip on the top of his baton and planting its butt and only getting upright because he extended it without letting go.

Blood and his sharp grin.

Blood and his falling.

Blood and the scent of piss.

Blood and her scream.

* * *

"At the second ball, Ella wore sky blue, and whispered with Prince Edmund through a series of waltzes and pavanes, alternating each dance that he danced with Ella with two dances with other women—favoring Angelica and Charlotte somewhat, and he whispered with them a great deal as well. At eleven-thirty, Ella slipped out unnoticed."

Chat's voice. Chat Noir's voice, a gentle rumble in her ears, steady and calm.

"At the third ball, Ella wore goldenrod, and stayed a little too long—the first bell of midnight rang out in the middle of a galliard, the second as Ella shot out of the ballroom."

He'd—died. Hadn't he.

"She slipped on the staircase as the third bell rang, caught herself on the railing and ran, one foot bare, across the courtyard through the peal of the fourth bell."

Blood and her scream.

Ladybug drew a long shuddering breath.

Chat's breath caught: easily heard, her ear on his chest as it was. "Back with me, Bug?"

"Maybe?" The leather-like fabric of his armor was covered in her snot and tears. "Are you okay?"

"Better than ever," Chat assured her, warm and strong. "I think you busted through your block on the timer, too. I don't know how long between when you called Lucky Charm and when you called Miraculous Cure, but I woke up here like half an hour ago and Tikki hasn't beeped once. My friends might kill me later," he added ruefully, "but—"

"Shut up," Ladybug broke in. "Shut up, shut up." Broken. "Don't joke. Not funny. Don't do that again. Don't _leave_ me."

"You know I can't promise that, my lady," he told her, gentle.

"Fine. Fine." She didn't want to snap at him. She _didn't_. "Marry me. Move in with me. If you can't promise not to die on me, at least don't make me worry about whether you're safe wherever you're sleeping."

"Damn it, Ladybug." The tips of his claws traced fine fiery lines on her bared neck. "I told you already. I've always loved you. But I love her too, and she loves me, and I refuse to hurt her. We're still partners," he reminded her, "but if you wanted romantic, you should have said sooner."

"This isn't about that!" Ladybug pushed herself up, the better to brace herself on her chaise and stare pleadingly at him. "Not that I know what to tell Adrien, but this isn't _about_ that. Not really."

Chat stared at her, blinking blankly.

"Marriage isn't about romance," she said. "People think it is but it's _not_. It's about sharing a _life_ together. Rent and groceries and tuition. Tax benefits. Raising children, maybe. _Next of kin_."

His eyes flicked around the room, taking in Marinette's workspaces and art wall and locked trunk.

"You haven't been home in a week, Chaton," she told him, starting to weep again. "You haven't even told me what's wrong. You just—saw Adrien here and decided you wouldn't intrude, or something, and I need to know you're safe! I need to know you're _home_!"

His gaze focused on her and softened. "I wondered why you brought me to Marinette's," he said. "Claws in." Green light sparked over him: the damp leather became soft dry cotton; the claws vanished, leaving bare fingertips to electrify her; the black mask and ears evaporated. "Plagg, get lost," he added, and Plagg zoomed off with hardly even an irritated hmph.

She blinked the sparkles away. Chat's face. She was seeing Chat Noir's bare face, wearing the same intent, loving look she'd delighted in so often these past weeks when she saw it on Adrien. Who looked nothing like Chat. And everything. Oil and water. It wouldn't mix.

Then all at once it did, and Ladybug fell on him, shaking and shaken, to devour his kisses as though she were starving, his love her only possible sustenance.

* * *

Captain Ladybug of the _Black Margarita_ —everyone involved in this production, except Marc who turned eighteen in two weeks, was an adult with a fully mature sense of humor, even if she _had_ had to jokingly threaten Adrien with not getting any, you know, _minette_ in order to talk him out of calling their imaginary pirate ship the _Minette Noire_ —smirked up at her first mate and—

"Oh shit," said Adrien, "Nathalie and Gorilla—bye!"

Marinette turned to see what he saw, and when she turned back, he was gone.

"Well, hell," said Marinette. "All right, people, let's carry on like I'm the only model, and follow my lead."

A flurry of nods. Alya and Nino took another look around the patch of Seine bank currently starring as tropical coastline, muttering to each other. Marinette watched M. Agreste's employees approaching.

"All right," said Alya, "let's have the captain standing right—" She clicked her laser pointer, and Marinette moved to stand over the red dot on the grass. "Facing the water. Queen of all you survey."

Marinette straightened her spine. Confident. Powerful. Proud. And looking _damn_ good into the bargain.

"Mlle. Césaire," said the cold voice of Nathalie Sancoeur. "M. Lahiffe. Where is Adrien?"

"Not on set," Alya told her. "Like you should be."

"You're blocking my shot," added Nino.

Marinette turned around. "Take five," she told everyone. "Mme. Sancoeur. May we help you?"

"We're looking for Adrien," Nathalie told her. "His father wants him home safe."

"I haven't seen Adrien in three days," Marinette replied. "You're interfering with our project. Go look somewhere else."

Nathalie's eyes narrowed. "You are lying. I saw him here five minutes ago."

"You must be mistaken," interjected Rose, who had fixed Adrien's makeup when he and Marinette got back to set that afternoon, after the akuma battle late that morning. "I don't think I've seen Adrien since Tuesday." This was Saturday evening. Rose climbed onto Juleka's back, which wasn't enough to match Rose's height to Adrien's, but came close. "Maybe you just saw blonde hair and didn't realize it was me."

Adrien's former bodyguard glared down at Rose and Juleka. Rose stared right back.

"I know you only want to help your friend," Nathalie told them all in what was probably meant as a gentle manner. "But the safest thing for Adrien is to get him back home."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "Madame, have you _met_ him?"

"Stop," Marinette told them all. "Marc, my phone, please?" He darted over to bring it to her. Marinette dialed Penny Rolling.

" _Marinette!_ " exclaimed Penny. " _Jagged was just asking me to call you—_ "

"In a minute, please, Mme. Rolling," said Marinette, suppressing the shriek of glee at a potential new Jagged Stone commission. "I have a favor to ask. Could you get me in touch with a good law firm? I'm not entirely sure what areas of expertise we need. The client is my boyfriend, Adrien Agreste," she said, staring Nathalie down. "The matter on which he needs legal advice is, his father, Gabriel Agreste, seems not to have noticed that Adrien is eighteen and legally an adult. As such, Adrien is perfectly within his rights to move out of his father's house, leave his father's employ, and sever all contact with his father."

Penny sucked in a breath.

"I say M. Agreste hasn't noticed that," Marinette continued without pause, "because I am once again looking at M. Agreste's executive assistant Nathalie Sancoeur come to bring Adrien back to somewhere he does not choose to be. Since this time she brought Adrien's former bodyguard, I suspect M. Agreste instructed Mme. Sancoeur to retrieve Adrien by physical force, if necessary."

" _Do you need police?_ " asked Penny, and added something muffled to someone with her.

"Not yet," Marinette told Penny. "I don't think they want to risk assaulting anyone but Adrien, and he isn't here. But if you want to come assess the situation," she added on impulse, and gave the location. "Look for the semi-professional photoshoot."

" _We're on our way,_ " Penny answered. " _I'll email you about that legal representation by tomorrow._ "

"You're the best!" Marinette hung up, handed Marc her phone, and glared at Nathalie. "Now get out of our way. We have work to do."

Nathalie and the Gorilla did not leave, but they got out of the way.

The sky was shading toward sunset when M. Agreste's employees left, having finally decided they were tired of getting dirty looks from Marinette's crew (including honorary crewmates Penny Rolling, Jagged Stone, and Fang), or ignored in favor of Jagged exclaiming over the quality of Marinette's black and red pirate-queen coat, waistcoat, and breeches, or of whatever it was in the texts Marinette's friends kept receiving and whispering delightedly over. The said crew had gotten about fifteen million photos of Captain Ladybug, Marinette thought sourly, plus the circumference of Marinette's ring finger (whatever Alya wanted that for; at least her friends were happy?), and they were probably going to have to come back later for the shots they were actually after.

"Boo," said Adrien behind her.

Marinette squeaked. Adrien laughed. Marinette jabbed her elbow back. Adrien squawked.

"Hello to you too," Marinette said, turning and smiling. He really looked unfairly attractive in the faux-worn off-white poet shirt and faded black breeches she'd made him. "Where have you been?"

"Around and about," Adrien said airily. "Check the Ladyblog later; someone's probably going to submit video of Chat Noir playing with a bunch of kids at the park over there." He gestured vaguely in the appropriate direction. "They were all terribly disappointed to hear Ladybug wouldn't be joining them."

"Is that so?" Marinette let herself melt into his arms, joying in the steady sound of his heartbeat.

"They really were." He hoisted her up, the better to murmur in her ear, "So what are your feelings on public marriage proposals?"

Marinette clung to his shoulders, suddenly wobbly. "Wait say _what_?"

"I've always loved you," he told her. "Not ever since the day we met. But almost. And you proposed this afternoon and I didn't properly answer you. So I thought since I couldn't hang around set anyway, I'd go get a ring and do this right."

Wait. Wait. Wait. _What_?

"Put me down, Chaton," said Marinette, breathless, and held on till she was steady on the ground again, steady on her own feet, with Adrien waiting to catch her if she fell. "Shouldn't—" She swallowed. "Shouldn't you be on one knee, or some—"

Adrien dropped to one knee, catching both her hands in one of his, and got a small velvet box from his pocket with the other. The ring inside—had anyone but Adrien chosen it, she would call the slender band silver-toned, its small stone crimson-hued; because it was Adrien, she would bet on platinum and ruby, the setting chosen so she wouldn't snag it easily when sewing. Of course he'd gotten Alya to get her ring size.

Marinette couldn't have answered him articulately no matter how she tried. But then, he didn't need to ask.

He straightened up, kissing her hand above her engagement ring, and smiled. Listening to her friends' gleeful squeals (and ignoring Marc trying to add up how long they were even dating), she fell in love again.

* * *

Gabriel's phone chimed, notifying him of a series of new posts to Adrien's Instagram. The account had been silent, of course, since Adrien's display of youthful rebellion began; the intern whose job included keeping the account updated could hardly do so without Adrien to provide material.

He checked the app.

There were no fewer than twelve new images, all with the distinctive look of the covers to Émilie's favorite genre of novel. Adrien was a prince in one, a pirate in another, a sooty menial in a third; here waltzing at a formal affair, there twiddling with the gears of a device not unlike the accents on his 1800s-chic suit. In each image, his pose and expression suggested a burning passion for the other model—a petite woman of, perhaps, East Asian extraction; her face was oddly familiar—or, instead, a firm and loyal love.

The outfits appeared of good quality, Gabriel grudgingly admitted; had he seen them in any other context, he might have hired the designer on the spot. But here, caught in Adrien's teenage recklessness, and creating the impression that Adrien was a grown man?

He reviewed the images again. The like and comment counts were skyrocketing.

Another notification. This image, a candid shot from the same piratical photoshoot, showed Adrien kneeling before the other model, sliding a delicate ruby ring onto her left hand. The description noted the date it was taken, weeks earlier: hashtag _#shesaidyes_.

Gabriel placed a call to Nathalie. "Who is supposed to be updating Adrien's Instagram?" he demanded coolly.

"We lost corporate control of that account several weeks ago, sir." Nathalie's demeanor was professional as ever. "Adrien locked us out. I believe he is posting these himself." She hesitated. "Sir—have you noticed the name he's credited under?"

Gabriel checked the credits. The other model must be the designer; the models were credited as _Marinette and Adrien Dupain-Cheng_.

"I'll be upstairs," snapped Gabriel, and disconnected the call. Adrien would never have dared to rebel against his family name, even in jest, if Émilie were awake to witness it. Hawkmoth would have to redouble his efforts.

Gabriel _would_ have his whole family alive and well and safely home.

No other possibility could be permitted.

**Author's Note:**

> The bit Chat is reading, beginning "At the second ball", is excerpted from my Cinderella retelling "[The Finch on the Apple Bough](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036904)".
> 
> You can blame this story's title on Socchan, because I told my Dreamwidth drafts filter _Tell me I am not allowed to title it with a line from Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance"_ , and Socchan answered:
>
>> Not only should you, you are…
>> 
>> *sunglasses* _Entitled_.
> 
> (c'mon, y'all, that's just too good to waste!)
> 
> Find me on [Dreamwidth](https://alexseanchai.dreamwidth.org/) and [Tumblr](http://alexseanchai.tumblr.com/).


End file.
